Schadenfreude
By Mohit Saini

 

They don’t smile when flowers grow,
but when the stem is snapped in two—
that’s when their eyes begin to glow,
a spark that flares on someone’s bruise.

They clap for stumbles, lean in close
to catch the sound of breaking glass,
collect the fragments like a boast,
polish their pride with every crack.

You’ll see it in the way they pause
when tears are spilled but not their own,
how gently they applaud your loss,
then offer you a blade to hone.

Their laughter? Soft, but never kind—
a rustle in the dark, a hook.
They feed on what you leave behind:
the pieces they convinced you to overlook.

 

The Hollow Ones

Some hearts are rooms with nothing inside
but mirrors angled to catch the fall.
They brighten when the light has died
in other halls. They need the sprawl

 

of someone else’s wounded pride,
the tripped-up step, the fumbled call.
They sip the air where shame resides
and call it justice—watch them crawl

 

like shadows toward the raw, exposed,
the tender spots they’ll salt with cheer.
Their hunger’s never quite disclosed,
just veiled in “Karma’s cruel, my dear.”

 

But here’s the truth they can’t digest:
a soul that feeds on pain stays thin,
and every feast leaves them less—
just echoes, grinning in their skin.

 

Mohit Saini from India is a writer, poet, and researcher, working as an Assistant Professor at Compucom Institute of Technology & Management, Jaipur. He published poems showcasing his creative engagement with language alongside his academic pursuits.